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| February 8, 2007 The Supermarket by Brian Anderson, insurgent49 placing my hand upon these apples I marvel at the distance they have traveled such pristine reds and greens so vibrant as to burn my eyes and as I pick up this golden delicious my mind wonders at the tastes secreted away in the depths of such a primitive food my taste buds become energized my teeth cut into the juicy fruit my mind screams in protest My God! The fruit is tasteless! the grainy white interior rots away from my anxious lips fading to blackened ash it wilts away and drifts to the ground at my feet it lies countless years of evolution poured out and blowing away to the wind what devil has been at this apple then I notice the one thing that remains at my feet the sticker, forever glued to my sole three simple letters, red on a white circle - “GMO” |
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Reserved. in-sur-gent (in sur'jent), n. 1. a member of a group which revolts against the policies of its leadership. |
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